


Safe Places

by punchdrunkard (twopunch)



Category: Gaunt's Ghosts - Dan Abnett
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Gen, Recovery, Warhammer 40k - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopunch/pseuds/punchdrunkard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gereon Twelve have a ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Places

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Cotton Candy Bingo Challenge](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt: NIGHTMARES ([table here](http://twopunch.dreamwidth.org/4807.html))
> 
> Criid stole the POV, but it was meant to be a general regaining-your-equilibrium piece dealing with events in Traitor General and taking place post-His Last Command.
> 
> Thanks to [prettymanly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prettymanly/pseuds/prettymanly) for emergency read-throughs.

_After Gereon._ It would always be _after Gereon_ for them.

Their friends tried to be understanding, to be patient, but the distance between them was too long, the wounds too fresh. It was easier to stick with the people who knew, the ones who had been there. No one woke up screaming -- a habit they never allowed to develop -- but there were sleepless nights more often than not. The dark was both friend and enemy, danger and tool. Except that it wasn’t supposed to be like that anymore, not now that they were back in the relative safety of Imperial space.

The ship was quiet as people slept during the night cycle of warp transit, restless bodies shifting as faint echoes brushed their vulnerable minds. Thousands of people breathing and murmuring, fearless in their certainty of a next day to wake up to.

In the Tanith barracks, Criid watched Caffran dream, his face young and unmarked, a smile at the corners of his mouth as his eyes twitched beneath their lids. _The sleep of the innocent,_ she thought, though it was an unjust label. Caffran, like any soldier, had seen and done much in his life that civilians would no doubt label terrible and cruel. But a person who hadn’t been there couldn’t understand the difference between the horrors of life in the Guard and life on Gereon. Gak, back in the day, she’d thought Vervunhive would be the worst she’d ever live through. Her smile twisted the scar on her cheek.

Criid slipped out of the cot she shared with Caffran without disturbing him. It was easier than it used to be. She used to love sleeping between him and the wall, snug and secure. Now she slept on the outside of the cot, on the very edge, her body held still and a knife hidden under her thigh, ready to escape from dangers both imagined and real. Caffran wrapped an arm around her in the middle of the night once, and she’d nearly killed him before she realised where she was. He hadn’t even woken up.

She left the peacefully sleeping behind and sought the company of the other survivors, her comrades in nightmares. It felt natural, almost normal in the dark hours. There was a soft rapping on the bulkhead, a friendly early warning before Mkoll ghosted up to her in the hallway between one step and the next. She nodded in thanks and greeting. He took point and guided her through the dim corridors to tonight’s meeting place.

They used to meet in Gaunt’s rooms, but it seemed wrong to taint the bright, normal world with the shadows they carried. Instead they met on the less travelled lower decks, in forgotten hangers and service tunnels, amongst the tribes of lost crew members and damaged servitors and six-legged scavengers with too many teeth. The edge of danger was almost comforting.

Mkoll tapped Criid’s wrist once so she would not startle as Eszrah’s face appeared out of the gloom. Eszrah swept his eyes behind them, then turned and opened a hatchway on the side of the corridor. They climbed through and stepped out into an old messdeck, the long narrow tables and benches clean and empty as if waiting for a mealtime that would never begin.

The other Gereon survivors sat or stood around the table between the kitchen and main doorway. A single lamp was lit, half-shuttered, providing enough light to not trip over obstacles. Most of the glow remained blocked by their bodies, easily snuffed out should the need arise. Criid knew none of them did this consciously. It was habit. Survival.

Gaunt stood up as they approached, cameoline cloak fluttering around his tall, thin form. He was no longer losing weight, but his name fit him too well these days. They were all of them wraiths.

Gaunt nodded as they took seats at the table. Eszrah drifted back into the shadows after another nod from Gaunt, who sat back down. Nobody said anything, but they didn’t have to. They all knew why they were here. They left three seats open.

_Bad dreams_ , Larkin signed, always the first to start. _Awake or asleep._ His eyes stared unblinking into nothing. Not an unusual thing for the man even before Gereon, but after, Criid thought, _after Gereon_ , there was a horrible focus to it, as if he was always sighting invisible targets.

Bonin crooked a finger in agreement, signed back, _Ship is noisy, others are noisy, unsafe._

They hand-talked in silence, concentrating on each other’s gestures and faces, trying to shut out the distant creak that might be someone sneaking up on their bolthole, was more likely the ship breathing as it slipped through the warp. They shared their fears, the nightmares they had brought back. Expressing them in the simple, concrete language of sign, Criid felt herself relaxing. She gained distance. When Beltayn shuddered as he related a close call, they all reached out to reassure him with physical contact -- a pat on the arm from Varl, a squeeze of the shoulder from Gaunt. This was real. Here, now. Her hand on his, his clutching hers.

Eszrah rejoined their communion. Gestured. Time to go.

Criid almost smiled as they came back to the familiar corridors of the upper decks, softly lit for the early hour, humid after the chill of the lower decks. Right turn, then left, on to the familiar path to the end of the evening. Leave the rest behind.

Routine had been deadly on Gereon, Criid knew, but they were working to get past that. They held their meetings in different places each time, so no place would become a symbol for the horrors they carried. By the time they reached Gaunt’s quarters, she would have tonight’s thoughts processed and packed away. She would be tired and ready to sleep, safe and secure between her comrades.

_We’ll take first watch_ , Rawne signed, including Brostin beside him. The rest of them spread out blankets on the floor of Gaunt’s room and lay down. The lights were dimmed. Criid snuggled in between the wall and a warm body, knife tucked under her makeshift pillow, a prayer to the God-Emperor on her lips. She fell asleep to the familiar sounds of the others breathing.


End file.
